


Balance

by melonbutterfly



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Domestic, Get Together, M/M, Nudity, Queerplatonic relationship, Slow Build, Vacation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-20
Updated: 2012-12-20
Packaged: 2017-11-21 19:44:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,174
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/601399
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/melonbutterfly/pseuds/melonbutterfly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Some things change but at large they stay the same.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Balance

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lil_1337](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lil_1337/gifts).



Clint isn't gay. He's never been even the slightest bit attracted to a man. So he doesn't know what it is that makes his fingers shaky in Phil Coulson's presence, something fragile deep within him waiting with baited breath to be shattered.

Natasha doesn't make him feel like that. Not that he is any surer of himself in her presence – he's brilliant at putting up a front of self-confidence if he does say so himself, but he rarely if ever actually _feels_ it where archery isn't concerned. But what he feels for her in comparison seems considerably simpler, less confusing.

Some of the things he wants from Coulson aren't unexpected, or new. He wants his approval, wants to make him proud, wants to frustrate him. Sometimes it's tickling in the tips of his fingers to make Coulson want to get rid of him, but he doesn't give in to the impulse, knows that it's self-destructive, knows that while it will give him a sick sort of pleasure, I-told-you-so, Coulson doesn't deserve to be among the ranks of people who have done this to Clint before, discarded him like a thing that has become useless.

"Ready," Coulson murmurs through the earpiece. Nothing else; they had extensively discussed the mission and Clint has been waiting in his spot for hours, motionless, silent. Now he finally gets to move, pulls the blanket off himself and gets into position, arrow nocked as he focuses on the door he's watching. From then on he's completely focused, no idle thoughts distracting him anymore.

Once the mission is complete – noiseless arrow released from Clint's hand embedding itself in the guy's eyesocket, in the foreheads of the ones following – Clint packs up again and silently leaves the scene; his part is done. Natasha is currently in the house, getting rid of the leftovers while other agents are freeing the hostages.

"Well done," Coulson murmurs in his ear. No names, of course not, so Clint doesn't know if he's being addressed or not. He just assumes that it's a general compliment including all involved in the mission and allows himself a faint smile before he changes clothes and goes undercover. Natasha meets him in the house, dressed in loose, plain cotton, a scarf hiding her distinct hair, and together, playing the newly married couple, they travel through the country until they get picked up by SHIELD and transported back to a base.

Coulson is there, smiling at their plain clothing and linked hands; he knows that it takes a while to come down from a cover. Maybe Clint and Natasha never really come down, they're always handsy with each other; her hand in the small of his back, on his waist, wrist. Or maybe that's actually them. Coulson has never commented on it; neither have they.

Clint doesn't want to talk about it, worried that words will break whatever fragile thing there is between him and Natasha, him and Coulson, them and Coulson. There is a dynamic between them, the core team, that Clint can't grasp, can't name, but it feels like home. He's terrified of losing it.

He doesn't want to sleep with Natasha. Well, he does, but undercover; she's not Natasha when they're undercover. Sometimes she isn't even when they're not. It's all screwed up, he can't help but think, his mind is all twisted up. If this were a movie and he were the lead – though he wouldn't be, Coulson would be, capable and incredibly skilled at so many things; Clint would be the back-up, maybe the friend who dies to be the motivating factor – he would end up with the beautiful girl at the end, won like a trophy. But this isn't a movie and if Natasha is anybody's trophy she's the director's, showing her off smugly as if it was his call, his decision, as if he's to credit for how she clawed herself out from having been all scrambled up, turned upside down.

But that's not Fury – that's the role he plays in front of his superiors if he needs to but he's selling himself just like he's selling Natasha, and Clint thinks that's the only reason Natasha hasn't killed him yet. That and the fact that she doesn't kill anymore unless out of self-defense, or to do good. She demands full debriefs, information too classified for her, before she will go on a mission, and Coulson gives it to her despite the fact that he would be in serious trouble if anyone found out.

Clint loves him a little for that.

It took him a long time to admit that to himself. Coulson is his handler, the first one Clint has been able to work with (and who has been able to work with Clint) since he joined SHIELD, but Clint doesn't just work _for_ him; they work together. A lot has become easier for Clint since he got assigned to Coulson; there is a sort of respect people automatically grant him when they find out that his handler is Coulson, especially when they're informed that he's been for years. Usually, Clint finds this out just recently, Coulson takes on an agent, trains them for a couple of months and then hands them over to whoever he deems suiting them best. When he hears that Clint wonders what it is about himself that made Coulson break the pattern, and then he looks at Natasha and thinks that it's maybe because he's too jagged to work with anybody else, just like Natasha. Everybody knows that Natasha wouldn't work with anybody but Clint and Coulson. The only reason she gets away with it is because on a bad day she's worth five of SHIELD's best agents, and everyone knows it.

"Clint," she says, and he blinks. He's in the shower, the clothes he wore undercover crumbled in a pile in the corner of the room.

These are his temporary quarters; she has her own. She didn't follow him into his the way they sometimes do after a mission, jittery with something they can't name. They fight it out, or fuck it out then, but it's not really them. They haven't slept with each other, Natasha and Clint haven't, except in an entirely platonic way.

She's naked. Wordlessly, Clint steps aside, makes room for her; her hair is plastered flat to her head as the water hits her. They shower together, not saying a word, and it's a bit strange in the sense that they haven't done it before, but it's not actually weird or anything. Clint doesn't think they're like siblings, something about their relationship isn't suitable for that, but they're as close as if they've grown up together. In a way they have: the past three years have been subject to much change for both of them.

"We have the week off," Natasha says as she's drying off. Clint, already dry, is digging through his bag for some clothes for her, eventually finding a t-shirt and a pair of loose sweatpants. He hands them over and raises an eyebrow.

"Coulson too," she continues as she slips them on, finally coming to the point.

"Okay?" Clint opens the door and the two head out to the mess. Nobody there dares stare at her for not wearing a bra; it's half respect, half fear. She is not kind where that sort of thing is concerned.

They get platefuls of food; more than they can eat, really, but that's half the pleasure of it. "He said we could stay with him," Natasha says, precisely stabbing peas with the tines of her fork.

That's unusual. Clint frowns. They have been with Coulson in private perhaps a handful of times, primarily because Coulson doesn't really do free time. Suddenly, Clint starts to listen properly. "Why does Coulson have the week off?" It smells of forced leave. It's not unusual for Natasha and Clint to get time off after a mission as intensive as this one, but Coulson doesn't usually get time off right along with them.

Natasha shrugs. "I think we should stay with him."

That's alright with Clint. Actually, a little more than. It scares him, has since he realized it; sometimes he's still in denial about it. It's why he never suggested spending more time with Coulson out of his own volition.

So his agreement, when it comes, comes hesitantly. He knows that if he said no Natasha would acquiesce, perhaps not entirely happy but also not forcing him; they're a team, a unit of equals. But Coulson is part of that team too and he's never made any sort of overture like this.

After eating they go back to bed. By this point Clint has figured out that Natasha is feeling… he hesitates to call it needy, but that's maybe it. Sometimes she gets into these moods where she can't be alone – or can't not be alone. They never talk about it, she's never told Clint how these moods come about, but they live in each other's orbits all the time anyway so Clint always knows, and it's not like it's a chore to curl up in bed with Natasha.

The next morning they have another round of debriefs and then get their bags and leave the base. The only thing they have to do over the next week is write their reports; apart from that, they're free.

Coulson is waiting for them in the parking lot next to a black car, smiling his normal bland smile, but there's a tinge of insecurity to it, Clint can tell. "Hello," he says.

"Hello," Natasha replies; Clint leaves it at a two-fingered salute and a small smile.

"So, where are we going?" he asks once they're in the car, Coulson driving, Natasha riding shotgun and Clint having the backseat to himself.

"The beach," Coulson says. "I have a place in Florida."

Well, Clint's on board with that.

They drive to an airport, get on a plane, get on a different plane and get into a car; by the time they arrive it's evening and they're all hungry and tired and a bit cranky. Clint gets sullen when he's cranky, Natasha gets snappy and impatient and Coulson goes very quiet. The mood improves a little when they make a stop for some burgers, and then even more when "a place" turns out to be a villa, an actual villa with a pool, despite the fact that the beach is like, ten minutes away on foot. Clint is abruptly much happier with the world in general and unceremoniously strips off and jumps into the crystal clear water.

About twenty minutes later Natasha and Coulson join him, though they're wearing swimming trunks at least. Clint doesn't care that he's naked, and they don't seem to mind either as they sit down at the edge of the pool, feet in the water.

"You have not even seen your room yet," Natasha comments, stretching her leg out to poke him in the ribs with her big toe.

Clint shrugs; he actually doesn't care much. "So what's the plan?"

"What do you mean?" Coulson- _Phil_ , he's told them to call him Phil, asks.

"What are we gonna do?" Clint elaborates, rolling around in the water. He's trying really hard not to look at Phil. It's no surprise that he's fit, Clint has met him in the workout room a number of times and anyways, as agents of SHIELD they have to pass certain fitness regulations, but Clint has never actually seen it for himself. He's surprised at how much it excites him, to see him now. He shouldn't be, considering how much time he spends trying not to think about Phil.

Natasha pokes him in the ribs again and raises an eyebrow; she knows him too well. "Nothing," she says very decisively. "Lie around on the beach. Not kill people."

"Hm." Clint furrows his brows. He's all for some relaxing, but several days of nothing but lying around? Sounds like it could get boring.

"You can go diving," Coulson informs him. "Take a boat out. Canoe up the river. Go deep sea fishing."

That sounds more like it. Clint nods happily and stretches his arms out, staring up at the dark sky.

"But tomorrow, beach." Natasha's voice allows no argument, so it's more to tease than anything else when Clint pouts at her. "Really?" he whines. "What do you have against a bit of action? Are you getting old?"

Eyes narrowing, Natasha without warning suddenly throws herself at him, dunking him under water. Clint is laughing when he emerges so she dunks him again and again until he comes up shouting mercy. "Anything you want," he gasps, clinging to her as he regains his breath.

"I thought so." Natasha raises an eyebrow at him and helps holding him up by taking hold of his hips. The water is too deep to stand at this level but her legs are strong enough to keep both of them up effortlessly.

"Gotta respect your elders," Clint says earnestly once he's breathing normally again. Then he shrieks as Natasha dunks him again.

"We can get a boat the day after tomorrow?" Natasha suggests twenty minutes later, after Clint has profusely apologized and admitted to the truth; that she's the youngest and fittest of them and could totally beat him up if she wanted to. It's only partially right because Clint can certainly hold his own against her, but he holds his tongue.

"It will be Friday, so we might not get one," Phil says. "But I have a friend who has a boat, maybe he'll lend it to me."

Clint frowns, not comfortable with inconveniencing Phil just because he's restless. "We can do it another day – Monday, or Tuesday should be better, right?"

"It's really no trouble," Phil assures him.

"Stop being coquettish," Natasha says, poking him in the ribs again. Then she dunks him again, which is good because Clint's face is flaming red and he can pretend it's lack of oxygen when he comes up for air again.

They play around in the pool some more; Natasha tries to get Phil into the water with them and eventually he gives in, by which point Clint really wishes he had some swimming trunks. He decides to burn off some energy by swimming some laps and Natasha and Phil join him. Afterwards they go to bed.

In the morning the first thing they do is go food shopping; it's the sort of thing Natasha and Clint don't get to do often and thus rather enjoy. It gives them a feeling of normality. Phil probably figures this out but he doesn't comment on it, just puts on a long-suffering face and pushes the cart while they throw stuff in it and take it out again and argue over which type of cereal they want.

"We can just get both," Phil eventually says when it looks like they're about to start a fierce rock paper scissors battle about Chocos vs. Lucky Charms.

Clint pouts. "Which ones do you want?"

Raising an eyebrow, Phil points into the cart at a Captain America, Breakfast For Heroes box. Okay then.

"You into heroes, then?" Clint asks when Natasha walks off to find some poptarts. Blond, okay, that's no problem for him (though right now his hair is brown and a bit shaggy for the mission, to make vanishing into the crowd easier), but he's far from as built as Captain America, and even further from being any sort of hero. There's far too much blood on his hands for that.

"Hero is a big word," Phil says. "Captain America stands for a lot of ideals and ideas I support. But I believe that the classical image of a hero is… well, superhuman. Impossible to fulfill for anyone, even the heroes it's been built on. We're all just humans at the end of the day."

That's incredibly deep and surprisingly nerdy, considering that they're talking about something as cheesy as Captain America. Clint tries hard not to find it adorable and fails. Luckily Natasha returns and saves him before he does anything humiliating, like smile too wide or maybe jump Phil.

The rest of the shopping trip they mainly bicker about what they're going to eat; Phil says their eyes are bigger than their bellies, they can never eat everything Clint and Natasha pack into the shopping cart, half of it will go bad and a third will be left over by the time their week of vacation is over. Neither of them cares much.

Phil pays everything with SHIELD's vacation credit card; they're laden with bags when they return and there's barely enough space in the kitchen to store everything. For breakfast they eat a little bit of everything; the atmosphere is rather domestic and grows more so the more comfortable they get with each other. Clint really enjoys it but there's a part of him that balks at it; it's just not his life. During previous vacations he and Natasha had rather gone for the hotel and activity route, skiing, touristy city exploration, that sort of thing. If they went off base at all, that is.

After brunch – it doesn't really count as breakfast anymore – they pack their things and go to the beach. It's terribly idyllic; long strips of white sand, clear, turquoise water. Natasha immediately lies down and for all intents and purposes falls asleep. Clint sits close by her, knowing that his presence will make relaxing easier for her, and Phil sits down next to him.

"Do you come here often?" Clint asks, carefully not watching as Phil rubs sunscreen into his chest.

Phil blinks and looks at him, the corners of his mouth twitching, and it's only then that Clint realizes the come on. He flushes and groans. "I didn't mean it like that!"

"Too bad," Phil teases, merriment twinkling in his eyes.

Clint whines and flops on his back, covering his eyes with his arm.

"Not as often as I would like," Phil belatedly answers the question, sounding amused. "Usually I spend my time off in hotels."

Lifting his arm enough to see, Clint peers up at him. "We do too."

Phil raises an eyebrow. "I know."

Clint grunts and pokes him in the side. "Stalker."

That actually makes Phil laugh; Clint's heart does an embarrassing flip at the sound.

"It's… difficult having a home, working for our employers," Phil says a little later, having lain down as well. "So I thought I would instead have a vacation home. But it's not really worthwhile coming here when I have just three days of vacation. I thought about renting this place so it won't be empty so much, but it would be too much of a security risk."

"Also, then it wouldn't really be yours anymore," Clint points out.

"True," Phil agrees.

They don't talk much more until Natasha sighs and rolls onto her side. Clint is fairly sure she's as asleep as she gets in public but still takes her hand, knowing that physical contact with him will help her feel safe. Phil eyes their entwined fingers, differently than he had when they had come back from the mission.

"I've been meaning to ask," he eventually says quietly. "Are you-?"

Clint frowns. "What, together? Me and Natasha? Not in the way you probably think. We're more like…" He huffs, unable to find the words to explain.

"Co-dependent," Natasha mumbles.

"Yes, that," Clint agrees, relieved. "We're not in love or anything like that. I mean, I love her, but not… like that." He frowns. "Language sucks."

Natasha snorts in agreement and mutters something in Russian that makes Phil smirk. Strangely nervous, Clint closes his eyes. He doesn't know what it means that Phil asked now when he never has before; all he knows is that something is changing between them. Between all of them.

In the evening, Phil teaches them to cook a simple meal. Both Clint and Natasha have some cooking skills, of course, but it's more of a survival thing; how to catch an animal and the whole process until it's edible, that sort of thing. Simple things they can do too, like pasta or ready-made meals, but Phil makes horrified noises when they tell him and the next moment they're all in the kitchen, dicing vegetables and making salad. It's awful, how everything Phil does makes him more attractive; a simple dark blue apron that brings out the color of his eyes steals Clint's breath for a moment. More and more, it becomes clear to him that this was a mistake; what was previously an infatuation, at most a mild crush, is growing exponentially into... something more. It's futile to deny it, which doesn't mean he doesn't still try.

That night it's Clint who crawls into Natasha's bed, not the other way around; she wordlessly curls around him and pulls him close. The familiarity of her body, her breath lulls him to sleep despite his unsettled thoughts.

Of course she doesn't let him off that easily. "I think it's time we talk about this," she says in the morning, as the breeze billows the gauze curtains. Clint, who until this point has been well on his way into a nice doze, tenses.

But Natasha is relentless. "You want him."

He draws a breath. "Do we have to-"

"It's not going away," she interrupts his lame attempt at stalling. Swinging her leg over his hips, she climbs on top of him, forcing him to look at her. "You want him."

"Yeah," Clint finally admits soberly.

"Then you should-"

"I don't want anything to change," Clint interrupts her.

She smiles. "Liar."

"With us," Clint clarifies. He doesn't exactly have extensive experience in the field of healthy relationships, but he knows what's expected, and he's not sure he can do that. Phil is very important to him, yes, but he was before this whole stupid mess inside him began, and Natasha is incredibly important too, and Clint doesn't want to replace her with Phil. He isn't stupid; he knows that the way he and Natasha behave resembles the behavior of people in a relationship. If he and Phil – entirely hypothetically, because there's no way Phil is interested in him, but that's a whole different issue – ever started a relationship Clint would have to stop sleeping with Natasha, or touching her, or just thinking of her as one of the most important people in his life.

"Who says it has to?" Natasha asks seriously, carding her fingers through Clint's terribly unruly hair. His roots are starting to become obvious. "Phil isn't- he'd understand."

Clint exhales. "I don't-"

"Coward." Natasha sinks down to the side and pulls him into her arms. "Stop being scared. Sometimes you have to risk something. If you run now you'll spend the rest of your life wondering what might have been." It's almost word for word what Clint had said to her when he'd made the call not to assassinate her, as per his orders, and instead had tried to convince her to come with him. He isn't so arrogant as to think that he saved her; she did that all by herself, clawed her way out of brainwashing and conditioning enough to recognize what she wanted, and to realize that he was offering her the opportunity to get it.

This is different, he wants to say, and the circumstances and situation certainly are, but the core issue, going for something you want despite all fears and potential obstacles... maybe isn't. Not that anything will come out of it, Clint is aware of how much exactly he does not make a good match for Phil, but she's right. He has to try.

"If you don't know, you might never," she says, knowing that he's listening. "Something is shifting between us and him right now. It's the best opportunity to move in; it will only be infinitely more difficult if you try later. He won't... things won't be awkward, if you do it now and if he doesn't."

Yeah, probably. Phil is too upright a person to make it difficult for Clint either way, but they're working so well together right now, the three of them, and it's impossible that nothing will change if Clint upsets that balance. But she's right, the stronger the established bonds, the more irreparable the damage. If Clint does it now something might break, but it won't be unsalvageable. He hopes.

"What exactly is it I should do?" he asks. He really doesn't know how this sort of thing works. Usually his relationships are more of a with benefits kind of thing.

Natasha leans in, face serious. "Get naked again."

What exactly she means by that remains mysterious until later in the day, when they're out in the ocean with the boat. Phil offers to show them some islands or something but Natasha says she just wants to be where no people are. She spreads three towels out at the front of the boat and gets naked.

Clint can take a cue, and this isn't a cue it's a broad hint. He takes his clothes off as well and lies down on his belly on the middle towel. Phil hovers awkwardly around them, doing boat stuff that Clint isn't sure is necessary right now, until Clint peers up at him. "Something the matter?"

"No," Phil says quickly.

"Then come here." Clint pats the towel next to him before burying his face back in his arms just in case Phil is easily spooked.

It doesn't take long before Phil lies down next to him. Clint deliberately doesn't do anything, just pretends he's dozing, even though he really, really wants to check whether Phil followed their example or not.

After a while he feels Natasha's fingers on his arm; her index and middle finger just touching his skin as the tip of her thumb sweeps across it – their signal for him to be still and let her take over. By this point they've been lying around for long enough that Clint isn't completely feigning to doze anymore but at the gesture he becomes completely alert again.

Natasha shifts and sighs as she stretches, a few of her bones cracking, before she sits up. "Is that a sunburn?" she asks, the tip of her finger gently touching the skin in the small of Clint's back. "Phil?"

"Maybe a little bit," Phil says after a moment. His voice sounds mostly normal, if a bit tense.

"I'll go get the sunscreen."

Natasha pads away and returns, presumably handing the sunscreen over as she says, "I'm a little hungry, I'll make some food, you take care of him, yeah?"

"Sure," Phil says, voice decidedly tense now even as he feigns casualness. "Clint?" he asks as Natasha leaves again.

Clint hums sleepily.

"I'm being seduced right now, aren't I?"

Clint hums again before he tilts his head enough to blink up at him. "You mind?"

Phil smiles, a little embarrassed but clearly happy. "No. It's... good."

Unable to hold himself back any longer Clint sits up, cups Phil's face and leans in for a kiss. He means to make it short, more because he's been imagining this for months than anything else, but Phil clearly doesn't think so; he takes Clint's face in both hands and practically devours his mouth. Clint is completely surprised by so much passion but it doesn't take him long to catch up. He gives as good as he gets, and look at that, Phil is naked too. A moan escapes Clint's throat when he realizes it and Phil laughs into his mouth as he pulls him closer, hand warm in the small of Clint's back. "You're not the only one who can tease," he grins.

Clint rolls his eyes and unceremoniously climbs into Phil's lab. He can do that now, clearly – and he can also kiss Phil again like it's something he does. Maybe it will be from now on.

Hands settling on Clint's hips – a safe place, except for how his fingertips fan over the sides of Clint's butt, hinting for something less tame – Phil returns the kiss but gradually slows it down. Eventually they pull apart, breathing heavily, and Phil peers up at him. Clint almost can't deal with the expression on his face, a hint of lust, a fair amount of happiness and also something else that he can't look deeper at now.

Natasha's voice breaks the eye contact just when Clint starts feeling completely sappy and ridiculous. "Finally."

They both turn their heads to look at her. She raises an eyebrow. "You want some time alone or what?"

Clint bites his lower lip – he certainly wouldn't mind, and certain other parts of his body are also interested in that idea – but Phil shakes his head. "Later," he says. "Besides, the two of you come as a pair anyway."

"I knew you would understand," Natasha replies, deeply satisfied. She lies down on her towel again and lowers the pair of sunglasses she was using to keep her hair back. "Don't forget the sunscreen, he's really getting a little red."

A little reluctantly Clint climbs off Phil's lab and lies down on his belly again; it's a bit of a loss but not much of one because immediately Phil's hands are on his back, massaging the sunscreen into his skin.

That night, after they've returned the boat and had dinner cooked by Natasha and Clint under Phil's supervision, Clint again doesn't sleep in his own bed. Phil is sitting against the headboard, book in his lap, when Clint enters his bedroom; he smiles and pulls the sheets away, a clear invitation.

"So," Clint says after they've curled up together, Phil warm and comfortable against his back. "We're doing this."

"Yes," Phil says quietly. He shifts a little; Clint keeps quiet, sensing that there's something else. "I wanted to say something," Phil eventually says, confirming Clint's suspicions. "About Natasha." He tightens his arm around Clint's waist, but Clint doesn't know what it means. "I understand that she's part of this too."

"We don't sleep with each other," Clint quickly says, wanting to make that clear.

Phil hums. "What I'm trying to say is that I… have feelings for you, but I am also fond of Natasha. Only in a different way."

They're friends, Phil and Natasha; she allows him into his personal space almost as effortlessly as Clint but they don't connect on the same level as she and Clint do.

"I'm not sure what you're trying to say," Clint says.

"That it's completely fine with me if you want to spend the night with her," Phil explains. "That I know you're a team."

Clint nods, feeling incredibly relieved. "You're part of that team though, you know that, right?"

"Yes. I just don't want for anything to change between the two of you because of this."

Clint smiles so broadly his face hurts; he can't help but turn around and kiss Phil until he's breathless.


End file.
